


Oh, How They Haunt Us

by JennaMoon



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Feels, Hurt Bucky Barnes, M/M, Murder, Possessive Steve Rogers, Serial Killer Steve Rogers, Stalking, Stucky Scary Bang 2017, Underage Rape/Non-con, sadist steve rogers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-07 04:13:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12225528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JennaMoon/pseuds/JennaMoon
Summary: Prompt 71: Steve is a serial killer who stalks high schoolers and then murders them. Bucky is his new prey but something goes wrong because instead of wanting to kill him, he becomes obsessed and wants him all to himself. (it'd be cool if Bucky was dating someone, and Steve had to kill them to get Bucky) (also, age difference is welcomed, obvs, Steve is very fucked up here)I hope somebody enjoys this.





	Oh, How They Haunt Us

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Bucky is fifteen. He doesn't want what happens to him; Steve is unfortunately a little warped.
> 
> I hope the prompter likes this. I had a blast writing it!

‘ _I don’t want to set the world on fire~’_

It was late. 11 PM, perhaps? Just gone past 11 PM. 11:06 PM. Later than usual, but that last one had put up a fight. He could remember those doe eyes, the fear slowly draining with every twist of the blade. Poor doe. At least it would be put to use. Strong hand pat it comfortingly.

The low hum of the power  generator seemed to match up with the swirls of song that danced through the hollow air. It was a cold evening, rain splatting tirelessly against the window panes. Thunder crashed in a chorus of sound, lighting up the dim shack. The panes rattled, glass threatened to smash out of the confines of the wooden panels.

The radio, perched on a broken stool, faltered slightly. Fuzz mixing in with the piano keys. Wrong. It was wrong!

A hand, dripping wet with something sweet and ruby, punched the radio. High pitched whines left it as the machine fell to the floor. It had curled into itself, a mess of black plastic and silver metal. The same hand was bought up to a mouth, framed with slight stubble and a handsomely set jaw. A tongue, pink and moist, darted out between two chapped lips and took a long, leisurely lick of the red droplets, teasing the organ with it’s sinfully copper taste.

The doe was already coming to such use! After a few more tastes, each one becoming more addictive, the tongue stopped, retreating back into the mouth. That was enough for now. He had work to do.

Washing the remains of the blood and viscus (what a waste. Terrible, terrible waste.), the hands became clean once more. A few light hairs had been dyed red, but that could be sorted later. The radio crunched under heavy boots, plastic snapping and hiding under the wooden counters. An irritated sigh.

It was much more soothing to work with music.

The lips let out an experimental whistle, the sound oozing into the air like the sound of wind being pushed away in favour of a child swinging into the new space. The short bursts of air that were released into the air sounded light, smooth. Not quite in tine but for a mouth that didn’t usually make those noises... it was good. Easy to follow.

Hands, bare, reach into the smooth, straight incision that had been cut into the poor dead beast. Field dressing was always sticky, bloody and... intimate. The bloodied mess that fell out of the slice that ran from lower stomach to sternum was pooling around a pair of thick, plastic protected hiking boots. The collar of the boots protruded outwards, as if to see that the coast was clear.

They were stained with blood as payment for their curiosity.

Pink tongue runs along the lower lip, beads of sweat fall down a creased, focused forehead.

The heart is thick and fills the bloodied hand. It squeezes, as if the action would somehow make the organ beat again. What would it feel like? The heart pumping as the hand held it tightly, the muscle straining at foreign pressure. What would it be like, also... what would it be like to break into the heart, viscera running down fingers. The heart was huge, strong, overflowing between the stained fingers.

_Buzzzzz._

The fingers retreat, as if burnt. Phone. Phone...

 Swearing; picking the phone up; Sam; Letting it go to voicemail; dropping the phone down; swearing once more.

Feet tap nervously. Away?

Away from the doe.

A leaking sink, lime scale creeping out of the faucet like a sickly blue worm trying to burrow it’s way out of a pile of compost, sat in the corner of the room. Water fell out of it and swam down a broken plug hole, becoming a deep pink colour in the process. The hands sighed in relief; no longer stained. The nails were scrubbed clean, no traces of gut or muscle left hidden between the follicles and skin.

Clean.

Clean, oh so clean.

Hands take off the plastic wrapping. Swearing once again. Stained. “Hav’ to be thrown away..” A voice grumbles, annoyed and regretful. Not careful enough. Stained and ruined. Sam would ask questions.

Light flickers. Still raining, rattling and leaking. No matter. It can always be fixed. Wood and nails, nails and wood; fitting together and fixing, making it right. Stairs creak, down, down, down. The pretty pet whimpers as the light finally settles, humming yellow light into the dusty room.

There he is. Pretty pet, crying so beautifully. Tongue wants to lick. Lick it better. Lips smile, friendly, a happy smile. “It’s been a week.”

Fear. Gagged letters croak ‘they’ll find me’. Lips let out a hearty laugh. “Find you? You’re safe here...” Hands undo the bit gag, letting it fall onto the floor. They trace the sore, bruised mouth, wanting to make it better. This boy is the one. He is sure of it. Thumb dips between the bruised lips of the pretty pet, searching. Good pet. Pretty young pet. They were always better, being young and pretty and easy to mould. They lasted longer.

This boy was going to be the one, there was-

Sharp teeth bite hard into thumb, breaking skin and causing red, again red, always red, to escape and burn as it travelled down, down onto hand. Eyes stare for a moment. Small breath. _Fucking bitch...!_

A yell and punch. More red, pretty eyes dull, short scream and nothing.

Punch.

_Crunch..._

Punch.

_Wheeze... crunch..._

_Not the one...!_

Punch!

There’s a final, resolute crunch and blood and pretty pet isn’t _pretty_ anymore.

Yell in pain, anger. Fucking stupid ass...

He wasn’t the one. Fourth pet, no good. He was going to find the one. But now there was another carcass to take care of. So soon. A week. One damn week and pet had failed him already. Don’t hurt master, that’s all the dumb creature had to remember.

Eyes allows number four to be drank wholly. Blood, split, fat lip, bone flattened in the nose, left cheek bone turned to dust. Lump on the head. Brain slushed. Silly, pretty pet.

_Buzzzzz_

He answers this time.

“Hey man, wanna grab a few?” Lips smile. Sam made things seem better.

“Not tonight, I’m finishing up some-“

“Business. I got it. You work too hard, Rogers. And you know what they say about working hard...”

“Work hard, play hard... yeah. Tomorrow? I’ll buy the first round, alright?”

“Sweet. See you at seven tomorrow.”

Silence. Sam was a good friend. Sometimes, lips itched to tell Sam. The truth. But, they would stop and squeeze together into a tight line. Sam wouldn’t understand, not really. He’d tell ear that help was needed. That hands had to stop, lick no more, gaze no more. No more pets.

He needed the perfect pet. Pretty and pliable, wouldn’t anger him.

The rain is heavy and thick, wetting hair and skin and clothes. But car is warm, dark leather welcoming the hefty weight as it sank into the driver’s seat. Dashboard comes to life, screen telling eyes that track four was playing. Zero miles an hour, enough gas to drive home.

Music entered ears, drifting up, up, up and dancing in the warmed up air. ‘ _Every breath you take, every move you make, every bond you break, every step you take, I’ll be watching you’_


End file.
